


To Bebbenburg

by fineandwittie



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bebbenburg, Gen, Guhtred's Army, Season 2 episode 4, Uhtred takes the North, Uhtred's Birthright, northumbria, uhtred breaks his oath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 11:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30004494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie
Summary: What if, when Ragnar had asked Uhtred what was next, Uhtred had agreed to go north for Bebbenburg, instead of returning to Wessex?
Relationships: Ragnar the Younger & Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	To Bebbenburg

**Author's Note:**

> Not proofread.
> 
> I really like these what if scenarios. There are so many points in the show (and the books) when a single character making a different choice would have drastically upended the plot, more than in most shows, I think. It's fascinating. 
> 
> This will be updated much more slowly than England is All and much more sporadically.

“So, I…what now? Bebbenburg?” Ragnar’s voice was lost, like a child abandoned in the woods calling for its mother.

Uhtred hated the hear it. Ragnar was the strong one, the mountain, the one who _always_ knew what to do. Now, though, he was looking to Uhtred for guidance, for purpose, and Uhtred had none. He was barely a man, most days. His shoulders still hunched under a lash that would no longer land. He still found himself reluctant to meet men’s eyes. He hardly knew this creature that he’d become, this slave, and had not found his way back to himself. How could he help Ragnar? How could he lead Ragnar, or anyone, when he could barely force himself to move forward?

He had been silent too long. Ragnar frowned and cocked his head. “You have the army to take it. And your uncle will not be expecting you. Why not take it? What holds you back, Little Brother?”

Uhtred thought of his home, of Bebbenburg. Perhaps reclaiming it would bring himself back to himself. Perhaps…

“I swore an oath and Bebbenburg was not part of that bargain.” Uhtred’s words were soft, thoughtless.

Ragnar’s frown deepened. “A bargain? Oaths are not bargains, Uhtred.”

Uhtred’s jaw tightened and he turned away, looking down the length of the room. 

“Explain?” Ragnar’s voice was steadier, but soft with some undercurrent deep within it that to Uhtred like fear.

Uhtred had planned never to share his reasons for swearing to Alfred with Ragnar, but…he was so tired and so sick to death of life, of secrets and manipulations, of kings. “Do you remember the abbot that I killed?” Ragnar nodded. “Alfred called me in to speak with him. He said that because I was under your charge when I killed him, my crime lay at your feet. So he gave me a choice. Swear myself to him or he would put you on trial and have you executed. Given the choice between my freedom and your life, there was no choice at all.”

“He…tricked you into it.” Ragnar breathed, barely audible. “Uhtred, I was never in danger. You killed the priest in Northumbria and Alfred is not lord there. He could not have enforced that law.”

Uhtred shook his head. Ragnar had not been in Wessex long enough to understand. “It does not matter where it took place. Alfred believes the whole island to be his. And even if he didn’t, he is a man of his word. If he told me he would have you tried and killed, than it was true. I have never heard him make an idle treat.”

“But either way, it was not an oath freely given and so why keep it? Why not use the army in your hands and take back what belongs to you?”

“Steapa will, no doubt, have orders to kill me, if I try. Alfred does not wish a strong Bebbenburg, especially if it is held by a Dane. Especially if it is held by the brother of the man who hold Dunholm.”

Ragnar smiled. “If we turn north for Bebbenburg, we could easily take all of Northumbria. And hold it. The men of Guthred’s army are loyal to you because you trained them and you fought with them. Stood shoulder to shoulder in battle and bled for them. It would be a simple thing.”

“And Steapa?”

Ragnar shrugged. “Is Steapa not a single man? Can he not be held? Only for a few days. Long enough for you to send someone ahead to retrieve your family.”

Uhtred stared at him, somehow shocked by the idea. Bebbenburg had felt so far away for so long that it seemed more a dream than a reality. Now, though, with every word that Ragnar spoke, Bebbenburg drew nearer, so close that Uhtred taste the sea air on his tongue.

“You truly believe we could hold it?” 

Even with Guthred’s men, they numbered maybe one thousand, which was equal and perhaps smaller than the Bebbenburg fyrd. On the other hand, though, Uhtred’s uncle might not have time to call the fyrd and Uhtred was not sure how many of them would listen. It was general knowledge now that Uhtred, son of Uhtred, lived. Such was his reputation. Could their number win against the fortress? Could they hold all of Bebbenburg, all of Northumbria? 

His oath to Guthred had been betrayed and so he was no longer bound by it. His oath to Alfred was a lie, forced on him to save his brother’s life. Could he live with breaking it?

“Besides,” Ragnar continued, clearly not aware of Uhtred’s distraction. “Even if my men and Guthred’s cannot hold it, there are many Danes in Northumbria. Danes who had sided with Kjartan out of fear or convenience or the need for a Lord, but not out of loyalty. But you have more reputation than the next ten men. You are Uhtred Ragnarson. Are you not the man who slew Ubba Lothbrokson and defeated his army at Cynuit Hill? Are you not the man who alone broke the shield wall at Ethandun? Why would they not pledge to you? The tale of what you did for Sihtric spreads just as fast as whispers of your battle prowess. You are reckoned to be a good Lord, a giver of wealth, and a protector.”

Uhtred was shaking his head, training his aching eyes on the fire. “I might have been that man once, but no longer. I no longer know who I am. What I am. I have been Osbert for so long, more beast than man, mindless and desperate and broken. I don’t know if I can find my way to Uhtred Ragnarson of Bebbenburg again.”

“You can.” It was said softly, but fiercely. With such confidence, such blind loyalty, that Uhtred nearly believed him. “Hild believes you can. She has never wavered. Sihtric too or he would not have lingered in Eoferwic waiting for you. Finan would follow you to the ends of the world and back again, to Odin’s corpse hall or the frozen wastelands of Niflheim. He never knew Uhtred Ragnarson, only Osbert the Slave and he would still die for you, Little Brother. You inspire men. You kindle great devotion in others. In me. Uhtred, I know you once considered pledging to my banner, but I would lay it at your feet. I would follow you into battle and I would pledge myself and my men to your cause. I have known you as a slave and as a freeman, as a son of my father, as a Saxon and as a Dane. And now, I have known you as Uhtred and as Osbert. What you are makes no difference to me. You are a man to follow and you are my brother.”

By the end of Ragnar’s speech, Uhtred was weeping, silently, from painfully wide eyes. Ragnar thought he looked fragile and small, like he had on the beach as he’d curled into Ragnar’s arms and clung to his sleeve. There was something childlike in Uhtred’s fragility, but there was steel there as well. As though, even if Uhtred were to smash on the rocks of fate and break into a dozen pieces, it would not matter because the core of him would be unchanged, unfailing, and unbowed.

They sat, staring at each other, in weighted silence for several long moments, before Uhtred blinked. His tears stopped flowing and a smile split his face.

“Well, then.” He said with a nod. “To Bebbenburg.”

The words stirred something bloodthirsty and vicious in Ragnar’s chest, the same something that had called so desperately for Kjartan’s blood, and he smiled. “To Bebbenburg."


End file.
